“No. My decision is final. No alumni voting this year,” said Godard. “Now, I would hope to have you embrace it. After all, there have been whispers that children with parents of influence have an unfair advantage. We can’t have that. Can we?”
Bass opened and closed his mouth like a fish gulping down water.
“Of course we can’t. I know how important a good, clean competition is to you. Besides, with Strange a wanted man, and the rice paper scrolls full of rumors about what’s really going on at the CCS, you have a full plate.” The malice in Godard’s voice grew thick. “So,consider the optics.Now, if you’ll excuse me. Today is a big day, and we still have preparations that require my attention.”
Bass stared after her with the look of a constipated hippopotamus.
Sylvie quickly turned back toward her group. Flora, Maggie, and Georgia were chatting about the Golden Whisk.
This is good,thought Sylvie.Bass tried to turn the tide and failed.Things were looking up. Of course, that didn’t mean Sylvie was out of the woods. She still had an ingredient to find and liberate.
“Don’t get too excited yet,” said Maggie. “You still have to win the Commis Contest before you get to the Golden Whisk. So, is your recipe ready?”
“What?” Sylvie stared at her.
Maggie pointed to Flora. “I was asking about her recipe for the Commis Contest.”
“Oh right.” Sylvie scanned the room. “Didn’t you say you’ve been working on it for six months?”
“Yup!” Flora smiled. “It’s finally come together quite nicely.”
“Nice? It’s brilliant!” Maggie lowered her voice. “When they see your spell—”
“Shh!” Flora tilted her head toward the far wall.
There was Belinda, arms folded, scowling in their direction. Sylvie eyed the jars on either side of Belinda.BURSTINGBUTTERBEANS. CANDYTUFTBLOSSOMS.
Agnes had already told her that everything was stored in alphabetical order.Which means the woad is on the opposite wall.
Sylvie rotated like the hands on a clock. At three, there was a female CCS agent. Her green eyes turned sharp as she questioned a group of kids. Behind her, a bright red and emerald feather blew sparks into a jar labeledGALLUSPLUMES.
“Impressive. Isn’t it?” said Flora, who must’ve noticed Sylvie staring.
“Yeah,” said Sylvie, trying to focus.
“Most magical feather around. We only have one right now because of the shortage,” said Flora excitedly. “Rumor has it Zotter, head of the Swiss team, was planning to make Gallic roosters for his showpiece at the Golden Whisk. But Caron, head of the French team, got wind of it. He bought up all the gallus plumes. Now, Zotter is stuck with sugar dragons.”
Maggie rolled her eyes. “Here she goes. Watch out ladies. Flora literally knowseverythingabout the Golden Whisk. She’s obsessed.”
Flora folded her arms. “I prefer to call itwell-informed.”
Maggie laughed. “You know I love you, but it’s aseriousfixation.”
Sylvie continued scanning the room. At six o’clock, two stocky agents stood staring across the crowd. Behind them rested jars with shriveled leaves of Skunk Cabbage and bright purple Toad Lily Powder.
“Well, I don’t see what Zotter is so miffed about,” said Georgia. “Dragons are definitely cooler than a bunch of crowing roosters.”
“Perhaps to you, but not to the French. His isomalt dragons will put on a good show. But”—Flora drew a finger across her neck—“Caron dealt Zotter a deadly blow.”
Jack Bass moved from ten o’clock toward the agents parked at six. Sylvie bobbed and weaved, trying to see past the brim of his hat. She froze. There was an empty spot next to the jar of Wattleseeds, right where the woad should’ve been.
It’s gone.
Sylvie felt her knees weaken. The one ingredient she needed wasn’t here. She tried scanning higher. Zingiber. Candied Pickle Balls.
Sylvie paused.Z next to C?
Maybe not missing … but misplaced.
